Читать книгу Cowboy Conspiracy - Joanna Wayne - Страница 8

The woman from the diner had shoved a motorbike to the pavement and was kicking the frame like she was attacking a hungry grizzly. Had it been a grizzly, the bear would likely be losing the battle.

“What’s the problem?” he asked.

Her hands flew to her hips. “That hooligan stole my car.”

Wyatt looked around. True enough, there was no sign of the Honda she’d been driving earlier.

“Don’t just stand there,” she demanded. “Do something.”

“Looks like you have the bike subdued,” he quipped.

“Not help with the bike. My purse is in that car. All my money’s in it. He has my computer. A box of Jaci’s favorite toys.” She threw up her hands in frustration. “And half of our clothes!” She slammed the heel of her stylish boot into the bike’s frame again.

The hooligan in question had a good half hour head start. With no idea which direction he’d gone in, chances were slim Wyatt could chase him down in his pickup truck.

“What in holy tarnation are you doing to my bike?” This time it was the waitress’s shrill voice that cut through the damp air.

The woman threw up her hands. “Your bike? I thought it belonged to the man who stole my car.”

“That creep who was in the café stole your car?”

“Apparently.”

“I knew he was up to no good the second he walked in. I figured he was just hanging around waiting for the power to go off so he could clean out the register.”

Wyatt made the 911 call while the women righted the downed bike and the attacker apologized profusely for the damage her boot had inflicted.

The kid ran over to Wyatt. “Call the police and the game warden,” she squealed. “That man stole my toys and my books.”

Three near-hysterical females was downright scary. The light rain that was still falling did nothing to settle them down. At least the kid had sense enough to move to the cover of the aluminum canopy over the door after she put in her order for cops.

“Ladies,” Wyatt announced when he’d finished the call. “A deputy is on the way. Let’s go back inside and calm down.”

“Easy for you to say,” the woman snapped. “You have your truck.”

No doubt because the thief didn’t realize Wyatt had a couple of loaded pistols inside. Wyatt stopped at the Corvette parked in the lot as the three women marched inside.

If the guy hadn’t been riding the motorbike, he must have been driving this. Ten to one it was stolen, as well. But there was nothing he could do about it until a deputy showed up.

Back in Atlanta, he’d have made a few calls and had local cops and the state police already on the lookout for the stolen Honda. He’d have run a license-plate check on the Corvette. He’d have assumed control instead of waiting for a deputy.

Already he missed his life.

KELLY TOOK A DEEP BREATH and struggled to think rationally. Instead, she plunged into the frightening abyss of “what ifs” What if the creep had been the one pumping gas when she was? What if he’d knocked her to the pavement and stolen the car with Jaci inside it? What if she’d walked out while he was hot-wiring the ignition and he’d shot Jaci or her or both of them?

When she looked at it that way, the loss of her car and her belongings didn’t seem nearly so horrific. But still, she was fed up with being criminals’ prey. It was as if she wore a sign on her back that said victim.

“I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee,” Edie offered. “You never know how long we’ll have to wait for a deputy in this weather.”

Kelly and Jaci slid into one side of the narrow booth. Not unexpectedly, the cowboy slid in opposite them. Fortunately, he seemed to be taking command of the situation. Good that someone was, since she’d flown into a rage out there instead of thinking logically.

He was quite a hunk. Not that she hadn’t noticed that earlier, but now she actually let her gaze linger on the rugged planes and angles of his face. He couldn’t be many years older than she was, if any, but he had an edge about him and an aura of self-confidence.

She liked his hair—short but rumpled and dry—where hers was wet and dripping, thanks to the Western hat he’d just tossed to the booth behind them. His dark brown locks were streaked with coppery highlights, the artistic work of the sun.

But his eyes were the real draw. Mesmerizing. Piercing, but not threatening. The color of the coffee she could smell dripping through the pot.

“I think we should introduce ourselves,” he said. “I’m Wyatt Ledger.”

“Good to meet you, Wyatt, though I would have preferred to meet under better circumstances. I’m Kelly Burger.”

It was a relief to finally use her real name again. Maybe one day she’d even be able to get past the fears she’d lived with for nearly twelve months. She extended her hand and when his wrapped around hers, the tingle of awareness danced through her. She pulled her hand away too quickly. Subtlety was not her strong suit.

She looked down at her daughter, thankful to break away from Wyatt’s penetrating gaze. “This is Jaci.”

The cowboy’s lips split into a wide grin. “Hi, Jaci.”

Attacked by one of her rare cases of shyness, Jaci twirled a finger in her hair and looked down at the table. It was well past her bedtime, and even though she’d slept some in the car, she was running out of steam.

Jaci pulled her short legs into the seat with her and finally looked at Wyatt. “Can you take us to our new house?”

“It’s okay, Jaci,” Kelly assured her. “The police will see that we get home tonight.”

“Actually, I heard Jaci say earlier that you’re going to Mustang Run,” Wyatt said. “That’s also where I’m heading, so I can give you a lift if you’d like.”

The coincidence set off a warning bell in her head. For all she knew Wyatt could be as bad as the rotten thug who’d stolen her car. Boots and a cowboy hat didn’t mean he was the real thing. “Do you own a ranch near Mustang Run?”

“My family does. I was a homicide detective with the Atlanta Police Department until yesterday. Now I guess I’m a freeloader.”

“You’re a cop?”

“Was a cop. Guess it doesn’t say much for my detective intuition that I let the guy just walk out of here and steal your car. The fact that he left in the middle of a pouring rain should have tipped me off he might be up to no good, especially since I figured the motorbike was his, too.”

“Why did you leave the force?”

“Personal reasons.”

That she understood, the same way there were a lot of questions about her life she wouldn’t want to go into with a stranger. Or with family for that matter. She hadn’t even fully explained the year’s disappearing act to her mother. There had been no reason to worry her. Kelly had been frightened enough for both of them.

“If you’re a detective, you must know the routine. What happens when the deputy shows up?”

“He’ll ask questions about the car. You’ll answer the ones you can and then he’ll fill out a police report.”

“I know the license-plate number. Everything else, I’ll have to get from my insurance agent. That may have to wait until morning. Hopefully, I’ll have the car back before then.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.”

“Why not?” Her frustration spiked again. “They will look for it, won’t they? That’s their job.”

“That’s one of their jobs. I don’t know how they prioritize around here, but car thefts are not top priority in the big city unless they involve force, weapons or kidnapping.”

Panic swelled again. “I need that car. It has my purse with my wallet in it.”

“How did you pay your tab in the restaurant?”

“With the credit card I used for buying gas. After swiping it, I’d stuck it in the front pocket of my jeans.”

“Did you leave your purse in the front seat? If so, that might have been the lure that made him choose your Honda over my new truck.”

“I wasn’t that stupid. I put it in the trunk, but there were personal items in the backseat and the sleeping bags Jaci and I were going to sleep on tonight.”

“Where exactly were you planning to spread sleeping bags in a storm?”

“On the floor in my house. The moving van with my furniture won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“If you have other credit cards, I’d suggest you cancel them at once.”

“I don’t.” She wouldn’t have this one had the FBI not obtained it for her. Her credit slate had been wiped clean a year ago and all accounts closed.

“Is there a key to your house in your purse or somewhere else in your car?”

“No, fortunately, I put the house keys on the ring with my car keys earlier today.”

“What about your phone?” Wyatt asked.

“It’s in the car. No … Wait. It’s in my pocket. I forgot it was there. I could have called 911 myself. But my computer is in the trunk.”

“What else is in the car?”

“There’s a folder with information from the phone company, the electric power company, the natural gas company. The house I’m moving into has been empty for a year. I had to have all the utilities reconnected.”

She blinked repeatedly, determined to hold back a surge of tears that was gathering behind her lids. This was no time to cry. She worked to revive the fury that would keep her from showing weakness.

Jaci’s head drooped and came to rest against Kelly’s shoulder. The darling had fallen asleep. At least she wouldn’t see if salty tears started spilling from her mother’s eyes.

“I can spread my jacket on that booth behind us if you want to lay her down,” Wyatt offered.

“Thanks. I would appreciate that.”

She lifted Jaci while he fashioned the makeshift bed. Jaci was so tired she barely stirred as Kelly leaned over and carefully laid her down. The masculine smell of leather and musky aftershave emanating from Wyatt’s jacket was strangely reassuring. It had been a long time since she’d had a man help her put Jaci to bed.

Only this wasn’t a bed. It was a faded and worn plastic booth in a truck stop. And Wyatt was a stranger who just happened to get caught up in her routinely disastrous life. A stranger who’d likely cut out and run as soon as the deputy arrived.

Who could blame him? Though to be fair, he had offered to drive her into Mustang Run.

Wyatt walked over to the counter where Edie was pouring steaming coffee into large white mugs. Kelly joined him. Before it had cooled enough to take her first sip, the door opened and two men in khaki uniforms with pistols strapped to their hips stepped inside. The law had arrived.

Still, she had the sinking sensation that her problems in moving to Mustang Run were just beginning.

WYATT SIZED UP the two officers. The older one was the sheriff. He looked to be in his midfifties, about the age of Wyatt’s father. He was flabby around the middle with weathered skin from years of Texas sun and wind. His eyelids sported a drooping layer of baggy skin.

Yet he had an air about him that suggested he was in control and you’d best not put that to the test.

The second was a deputy. He was significantly younger, probably late twenties. The bottoms of his pants were caked in fresh mud, likely from working a vehicle accident during the storm.

The older man walked over to the counter. “What’s this about a car being stolen from the parking lot, Edie?”

Obviously, they knew one another.

“Can you believe it? Some slimeball jerk who stopped in just before the storm hit left in the woman’s car. And her with a kid. The gall of some creeps.”

“You saw him drive off in the car?”

“No,” Edie admitted. “But right smack in the middle of the worst of the storm, with the lights flickering and the power threatening to go at any second, the badass made a suggestive comment as I refilled his coffee cup.”

“And you didn’t dump the rest of the pot on him?” the younger deputy asked.

“I told him to go screw himself. He paid his tab, no tip, of course. Then he walked out without a word to anyone and drove off in this lady’s car.” She pointed toward Kelly and then propped her hands on her hips. “I should have at least spit in the slimy bastard’s coffee.”

“If you still have coffee, Brent and I could use a cup.”

“No spit,” Brent teased. “I’m armed.”

“You’d deserve it, since you haven’t stopped by in weeks.” She smiled and cut her eyes flirtatiously.

The older man directed his attention to Kelly. “I’m Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Brent Cantrell, here, is my deputy. Sorry about the car, but we’ll do what we can to get your vehicle back.”

Sheriff Glenn McGuire. Wyatt recognized the name at once. The infamous sheriff had been the one who’d investigated the murder case against Wyatt’s father and then made the arrest. He’d been a deputy back then. His arrest of Texas’s infamous wife killer no doubt helped propel him to the position of sheriff. He’d held the position ever since.

Oddly, McGuire was practically part of the Ledger family now and apparently a capable sheriff. He’d helped out Wyatt’s brothers on several occasions. Danger and mishaps had plagued the sons of Troy Ledger over the past year and a half since Troy had been released from prison.

Which meant that the good sheriff would know exactly who Wyatt was the second he gave his name. Then, in all probability, the entire Ledger clan would likely get word Wyatt was in town before morning.

“I really need to get my car back as soon as possible,” Kelly said.

McGuire ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Yes, ma’am. That’s what we’re here for. I’ll need you to answer a few questions to get us started. It won’t take long. If you live around here, you might want to go ahead and call your husband to come pick you up.”

“I’m a widow, and I don’t have any friends in the area that I can call. I’m in the process of moving to Mustang Run from another part of the country. The moving van is delivering my furniture in the morning.”

“Mustang Run. Good place to live,” the sheriff said. “Live there myself and have for most of my life. Believe me, you’ll have plenty of friends soon. It’s that kind of town.” He nodded toward Wyatt. “So I take it you two aren’t together.”

“No,” Wyatt said. “I was the only other customer when the car was stolen and I just stayed around to offer a little moral support. I can clear out now if I’m not needed.” Before he ran smack into the legend of Troy Ledger. He’d as soon not face that tonight.

“How about hanging around a few more minutes?” the sheriff said. “Brent and I will want to ask you a few questions, as well.”

That eliminated the easy escape. But on one level, he was relieved. He was curious about Kelly Burger. And a bit concerned that the thug who had looked at her like he was the wolf and she was the lamb now knew where she lived and had likely overheard Jaci’s comment about her father being dead. He might figure she and Jaci would be alone tonight.

The bell over the door tinkled again and this time a burly guy accompanied by a petite blonde walked in. Edie greeted them by name. Judging from the comments, they were a truck-driving team who stopped by often. Edie scurried off to take care of them.

“Is that your Corvette out there?” the sheriff asked Wyatt.

“No. I’m driving the black pickup truck. I figure the guy who stole Ms. Burger’s Honda drove up in that. It was the only car parked out front when I came in and he was the only customer.”

“A Honda for a Corvette. Interesting trade. Brent, run the plates on the Corvette. My guess is it’s hot.”

Good assumption. Wyatt sipped his coffee while the sheriff gathered the basic information from Kelly. His interest piqued when they got to the address where Kelly would be living.

“That’s the old Callister place, isn’t it?” McGuire asked. “Yellow cottage-style house, down from the old Baptist church.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“My daughter Collette rented the place for a while back when she was single. I was glad to see her move out.”

“Why?” Kelly asked.

“I probably shouldn’t even mention this,” McGuire said, “but I’m sure you’ll hear from someone else if not from me. My daughter’s friend was brutally attacked in that house. She’s fine now, but it was touch-and-go for a while. Turned out the guy was actually after my daughter. But don’t worry. He’s behind bars now.”

“I hope your daughter is okay,” Kelly said.

“She’s fine now. Married and with a bun in the oven.”

Wyatt was familiar with that part of the story. The sheriff’s daughter was married to Wyatt’s brother Dylan. This was becoming all too familial. All they needed was some fried chicken and banana pudding and it would be a family reunion.

How did people ever have any privacy in a town like Mustang Run?

“That house has been empty for over a year,” McGuire continued. “Place needs a paint job and lots of work. Last time I drove by to check things out, I noticed an oak tree in front that needs to be cut down.”

“I loved that tree. I remember climbing it when I was about Jaci’s age and having tea parties with Grams under those huge spreading branches.”

“Well, it’s dead now. Lightning bolt last spring nailed it and it looks like the first good wind will lay it on the roof.”

“I wasn’t made aware of any of that.”

“House was in perfect shape when Cordelia Callister was living. She’d probably roll over in her grave if she knew it was in such a state of disrepair.”

“Surely it isn’t that bad.”

“It’s bad enough that whoever rented it to you should have explained how much work it needs before they took your money. If you need help breaking the lease, call Judge Betty Smith. Number’s in the book. She’ll tell you what to do.”

“Actually, I own that house,” Kelly admitted. “I had no idea it was neglected. For years, I’ve been paying a man named Arnold Jenkins to manage the property.”

McGuire rubbed his whiskered jaw. “So you own the old Callister home place? Did you buy it sight unseen?”

“I didn’t buy it. I inherited it. Cordelia was my grandmother.”

“Well, hell’s bells. Then you must be Linda Ann’s daughter. Why didn’t you say so?”

“I didn’t expect anyone around here to remember my mother.”

“All the old-timers around here remember her. She grew up in Mustang Run and that was back when everybody knew everybody.”

It appeared they still did.

McGuire hooked his thumbs in his belt loop and hitched up his pants. “Don’t that beat all, you showing up back here after all these years? Linda Ann left Mustang Run right after she graduated from UT and that’s pretty much the last we’ve seen of her. How’s she doing?”

“Mother’s doing well.”

“I remember Cordelia talking about Linda Ann being a single mother after your father was killed. Car crash, wasn’t it?”

Kelly nodded. “He died before I was born.”

McGuire rubbed his jaw. “Did Linda Ann ever marry again?”

“Yes, six years ago. She married a physics professor that she worked with in Boston. He retired last year and surprisingly, they moved to Plano, Texas.”

“Guess your grandmother figured Linda Ann wasn’t ever going to move back to Mustang Run so she just left her property to you.”

“Exactly. But apparently I should have checked on it personally before now. In my defense, I’ve been occupied with other matters and I trusted that Mr. Jenkins was taking care of repairs.”

“I’m afraid Arnold’s been snookering you for over a year. He’s got the rheumatism so bad now he had to give up his membership in the local spit-and-whittle society. He’s been at his son’s house in California since before Thanksgiving.”

“Spit and whittle?” Kelly questioned, confusion written on her face.

“The unofficial society for retired men,” Wyatt explained. And now that he’d interrupted the dialogue, he might as well come clean and jump into the old-home-week party.

Wyatt stuck out a hand toward the sheriff. “I should introduce myself. I’m Wyatt Ledger.”

The sheriff’s eyebrows rose. He leaned back on his heels, studying Wyatt. “Yep, I see the family resemblance now. Dylan talks about you all the time, but he didn’t say a word about his infamous Atlanta detective brother coming for a visit.”

“No one in the family knows I’m here,” Wyatt admitted.

“Planning to surprise ‘em, uh? Believe me, they will be. Sure as shootin’, Troy will kill the fatted calf. How long you here for?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, I’d like to sit down and chew the fat with you while you’re in town, see how the big-city way of doing things compares with our methods. The county is growing so fast, we’re adding a specialized homicide division. I could use your input.”

“I’d be glad to give it.”

“Right now we’d better get to the business at hand.”

Wyatt caught a whiff of Kelly’s perfume as she and the sheriff stepped away. Add that to the sway of her hips and the effect was intoxicating.

A half hour later, it had all been said. As suspected, the Corvette had been stolen in Houston earlier that day, the keys taken from a woman in her own driveway as she was getting in the car.

While the sheriff had questioned Kelly, Brent had taken down a detailed description of the suspect from Wyatt and Edie. Jaci was still sleeping soundly.

McGuire took another call on his cell phone, the third since he’d arrived. Evidently the weather was playing havoc with driving. When the sheriff broke the connection, he gulped down the remains of his second cup of coffee and turned to Wyatt.

“I’ve got a truck that skidded off the road and into a ditch on Buchanan Road that I need to attend to. Seeing as how both you and Mrs. Burger are going to Mustang Run, how about you giving her a lift into town?”

An offer Wyatt had made earlier and had the proposal refused. But that was when he and Kelly were strangers. Now they shared a membership in the elite Mustang Run descendants club.

Now Wyatt was the one with concerns. “I’ll be glad to drive Mrs. Burger into town, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to stay at her house tonight.”

“The house needs work, but it’s not going to cave in on her,” McGuire argued. “It’s been standing for more than a hundred years.”

“The thief looked about as unsavory as they come,” Wyatt said. “Even if he can’t break into her computer files, there’s information in the stolen car about where she lives. And I suspect he has a good hunch she’ll be there alone.”

“More likely, the thief is long gone from the area by now,” McGuire said. “But the decision for where she stays is up to Mrs. Burger.”

Kelly chewed her bottom lip nervously and turned toward Wyatt. “Do you really think Jaci and I might be in danger?”

“Probably not, but why chance it? Spend the night in a motel and give the guy plenty of time to move on. There are two in town.”

“That’s an option,” the sheriff agreed, “but they might not have a vacancy tonight. They’re small motels and there’s a big gun show in town this weekend.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check them out,” Wyatt said.

The sheriff pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and rattled them as if he were eager to leave. “Tell you what, if you do stay at the house, I’ll have one of the deputies do drive-bys every hour or so. If you get anxious or even think you hear someone trying to break in, call 911 and he can get there quicker than a snake can slither through a hollow log.”

Kelly pushed her half bangs away from her face. “I’d appreciate that.”

Wyatt still didn’t like it, but it seemed he wasn’t getting a vote. But as long as he was driving Kelly and Jaci into town, he still had time to talk Kelly into staying in a motel.

He was being overly cautious. But then, dealing with dead victims on a regular basis did that for a man.

McGuire got as far as the door and turned back. “Another option would be to drive Mrs. Burger and her daughter out to Willow Creek Ranch. I’m sure Troy would be glad to put them up for the night,” McGuire said. “There’s plenty of room in that rambling old house.”

Wyatt nodded, but he wasn’t keen on that idea.

“You two work it out and let me know what you decide. The deputy can be in the area if you need him, Mrs. Burger. But now that I think about it, staying out at the Ledger ranch is what I’d recommend.”

“I’ll go make room for a couple of extra passengers in my truck,” Wyatt said, deciding to leave before he said too much. As far as he was concerned, the ranch was a last resort. Reuniting with Troy would be stressful enough without pulling a woman he barely knew into the sticky mix.

Fortunately, the rain had stopped, since making room for two passengers required moving his clothes from the backseat to the covered bed of the truck. When the truck was ready, he made one quick call to Alyssa and then went back for his two charges.

The intriguing and naively seductive Kelly Burger would be the first female passenger in his new truck. This was where Alyssa’s ridiculous raised-by-a-family-of-skunks analogy might actually come in handy.

Too bad that Kelly smelled so damn good.